


Kiss the Cook

by otakuashels



Series: Our love is Ineffable [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels
Summary: Inspired by @Kogla on Instagramhttps://www.instagram.com/p/BzNkv0mospD/andsoft-angel-aziraphalehttps://www.tumblr.com/search/ineffable+holiday+prompt
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Our love is Ineffable [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564669
Kudos: 15





	Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @Kogla on Instagram  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/BzNkv0mospD/
> 
> and  
> soft-angel-aziraphale  
> https://www.tumblr.com/search/ineffable+holiday+prompt

"Let's be real here, Angel, you can eat cookies like a pro, but baking them is a completely different story," Crowley pointed out above the din of the crowded street as they moved through the bodies on the sidewalk. After spending two hours coaxing Crowley out of bed with the promise of hot coffee, Aziraphale had dragged the pair of them into out into the holiday crowd in search for baking supplies. The blonde had insisted they walked mitten in mitten to the small market down the way rather than driving. December wind whipped down the street, slapping at the Christmas shoppers as it went. Crowley pulled his scarf up higher, the shopping bag on his shoulder rustling in protest. "And you still think that walking was a good idea?" Crowley griped, watching as Aziraphale shuddered. 

"With your driving and the number of people out, yes!" Aziraphale sniffed, despite the apparent regret on his features. "And I too can cook! I baked bread just last week." 

"Yes, bread. And a cake the week before that," Crowley skirted around an exceptionally deep puddle of slush in their path. "Oh, you can bake Angel. Anything but cookies." Crowley avoided the pout turned his way. He needed to stay firm. Even a miracle could not completely erase the smell left by burning cookies, especially after the thirteenth time. 

"But I wanted-"

"I will bake them," Crowley cut in "Don't look at me like that!"

"You're not even looking my way. How do you even know that I am looking at you, dear boy?" 

"I can feel it, Angel," Crowley drawled, using a sharp shoulder to guide Aziraphael over a bit, so a large group of bustling women didn't nudge them with their overstuffed shopping bags. Bloody department store flash deals. Not actually deals, just made to look like it was. Immensely frustrating when one realized that they had been duped yet were unable to return it due to lovely fine print. Suavely evil. One of his inventions.

"You don't eat. I mean, not really. Drinking doesn't count. I mean, you don't eat regularly." Aziraphale was slightly out of his breath. Crowley's lengthy stride short so as not to strain the principality. Both of their reactions were so human. So unnecessary yet so familiar. 

"Doesn't mean I don't know how to cook." Crowley looked up as they stepped beneath the familiar eve of the bookshop. The keys jingled happily in Azirapheals hands as if excited to be back home, the shop vibrating similarly. "I was a nanny for years, remember?" Crowley sniffed, stepping inside. The door locked behind them, and Crowley heaved a sigh of relief. Diety, he hated holiday shopping. One of their lot came up with that one. Too annoying even for Hell. His mind ticked off the necessary ingredients for making gingerbread cookies, and a sliver of panic raced up his spine. He was in the bookshop. Aziraphale wasn't here. He heard the sudden seizing of his breeze before he felt it. 

"Crowley. What about our habit?" 

"Yeah," Golden eyes flicked over his shoulder. The blonde male watched him calmly, setting the bag down at his feet and gestured for him to step towards the front door. 

"Come now, love." 

"Angel," it was like being pulled by a thread, stepping belly to belly with the shorter man. 

"There we go. No need for glasses when it's just the two of us you old serpent you know better" Carefully, gently fingertips pulled the retro black frames down Crowley's nose, folding them and placing them in his pocket. "I do so love to see those eyes, handsome." 

"Shut up," Crowley whined, wrapping his arms around Aziraphels waist, humming approval as the angel pulled him down for a kiss. A soft mouth pressing against his own. 

"Oh, don't be a scrouge." Aziraphale grinned into the kiss before saying softly. "See, just you and me. The two of us. In the bookshop. Both of us. And nothing is on fire. Everything is good. Right? We are safe."

"Yeah," He was articulate. Most of the time. Nosing for another kiss, the imagery of burning and arguments of cookies evaporated as they lost themselves in touch and taste. Comfortable.

"Now come on, I want to have those ready for after supper," Aziraphale breathed, pulling away once and again. 

"I am still cooking them," Crowley countered, brushing touseled curls back into place. That's what he got for growing his hair back out. 

"Fine." it came out in a huff. 

"Come on, Angel," Crowley grinned, swooping up the bag, hand in hand, pulling the man upstairs into the flat, past the bedroom, past the breakfast nook with the piles of blankets left from yesterday mornings laziness and into the brightly painted kitchen. All blue walls and yellow countertops. Straight out of the 1950s. The exact opposite of his white and steel. Dropping the bag onto the counter, he turned to gesture at the kettle, the stove clicking on to heat it. "Now you're going to get a cup of tea and then a book. There's a table in the nook. Oh nasty, he just rhymed! 

"You can't kick me out of my kitchen!" Aziraphale protested, hesitating at the arched brow. 

"The longer we argue about this, the less time we have later for other things." 

"You are evil," Aziraphale wilted beneath the heated look from his occult counterpart. 

"I am a demon," The ginger shrugged, long limbs almost cartoonish in the extravagant gesture. "Now apron?" he wasn't sure if he was happy or regretted the question as a sugar-coated smile lit the man's face. It was a pleasant smile, alright, with a touch of success. 

"Of course, dear boy," Azirapheal shuffled around the corner to what Crowley had assumed was linen closet. The fact that it might be used for linens rather than further book storage was surprising. 

"No," Crowley shook his head as he was presented with a grey apron, no-frills, lace or bows adorning it. However, emblazoned across the front in all black capital letters was the words KISS THE COOK. "The 'I' has a bloody fucking heart on it!" Crowley cringed. "Where did you find that monstrosity? Why do you have said monstrosity?"

"I think its rather adorable. And suiting" Aziraphale hoisted it higher. "Come on now, and you said you needed an apron. This is what I have." "Come now, dear boy," Aziraphale smiled, ignoring the daggers glared at him as he lifted it over the taller man's head with a stretch on his tiptoes.  
"Angel…"

"Cookies, right?" 

"You know that I cannot deny you anything," Crowley scowled, tying the apron strings about his waist.

"Let me at least help get the ingredients out."

"Nope," Crowley pulled the bag of flour from the angel's hands. "Not going to risk that. "

"Crowley…"

"Are you going to turn down a time to read without customers coming into the shop?" Crowley's brow arched as the kettle whistled for their attention.

"Oh! You are right!" His hand flew to his mouth as if the idea meant yet to occur to him. The hunger in his eyes changed. His eyes flicked to the cupboard where his teacups sat and then over to a stack of books. "I mean if you insist, dear boy. I most certainly wouldn't want to be in the way." 

"Of course, Angel." Crowley shook his head and snapped his fingers. In complete secession, a steel bowl, copper whisk, spatula, measuring cups, and baking sheet appeared.

"And what was wrong with my stuff?" Aziraphale pouted, making himself a cup of tea, peering at the bags as Crowley rifled through them. 

"m' like my stuff better. More familiar. Now go read Angel." Jabbing the spatula at him like some medieval blade Crowley herded the shorter man out of the kitchen with a grin. "And don't come back until I call you." 

"So mean."

"I am a demon, not an aardvark, so yes." a sort of calmness sank over the flat, the kitchen filled with the pure sounds of a metal whisk and the even-paced turning of pages sneaking in from the breakfast nook. A hum of thanks as a wine glass filled with ruby red appeared at Crowley's elbow and a grunt of affirmation from the corner filled with blankets. The beep of the oven reaching temperature and the creak of the wooden bench. The click of the oven door echoing that of an empty wine glass. 

"Dear boy." Appearing at Crowley's side, the ginger-haired man leaned into the hands, cupping his cheeks, more than willing to accept the kiss placed on his mouth.

"Kiss the cook, huh?" His lips curled against Aziraphale's. 

"Seems appropriate," Aziraphale smiled, arms securing about the demons waist, chin resting on Crowley's shoulder as black lacquered fingers rolled small balls of dough, pressing them onto a second sheet. "How does Sushi sound for supper? We could order in?"

"Sounds perfect, Angel. It will give me enough time to finish baking these"

"We should deliver some of them to Mrs. Stevenson next door." 

"The old lady who runs the stationery store?"

"Yes, gave me quite the deal on my new fountain pen last month." Aziraphale looked at the bowl of frosting resting on the counter. 

"oh, is that how she suddenly found the funds to get that new car? Do not even think of sticking your finger in there, Angel. Get a spoon if you must. No contaimination" 

"I know that!" 

"And leave some for the cookies." 

"Crowley!" the offense was plain as day. Crowley snorted, delighting in the fact that Aziraphale stayed wrapped around him, radiating contentment. "They smell good...although not the best thing in the room," the smell of the cookies baking began to swell about the room. 

"Really? Something better than the cookies? Do you have crepes in the fridge or something?" 

"No, no. Just some leftover curry from last night. What I'm talking about isn't in the fridge" 

"All you have is dishware in there," Crowley glanced at the cabinets. 

"Nope, not in there. Cabinet sweets sound nice, but what I am referring to is something even nicer, sweeter, I dare say."

"Sweeter?" Crowley frowned and glanced back at Aziraphale. The blue-eyed man was staring at him and Crowley's ears all but burnt off. 

"Knock it off! I'm not nice. I'm a demon!" 

"Of course dear" Now Aziraphale grinned, mouth finding his once more. Crowley melted into the touch, the edge of the counter finding the small of his back as he turned, sugar-coated fingers finding purchase in blonde. A familiar tongue was exposing his abnormally sharp canines — hip to hip and belly to belly. 

"Angel..." Words stole by another kiss, smooth fingers creating a warm along his spine, pulling the black button free from his jeans. "Angel...Something's burning!" 

"Fuck!"


End file.
